


Epiphany

by leiamoody



Series: Originals [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Flashbacks, Jedi Trials, Old Jedi Order, Old Republic Era, Other, Padawan Dropout, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9569951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiamoody/pseuds/leiamoody
Summary: A padawan on the verge of his Trials of Knighthood receives some advice from a waitress.





	1. 480.3 BBY, Coruscant

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Poetry Inspiration Challenge at TFN in 2015, (Inspiration poem was "Mother to Son" by Langston Hughes).
> 
> Winner of Best All-Around Story (Before the Saga) and Best Character [Zia Amopharis] (Before the Saga) in TFN 2016 Fan Fic Awards.

A padawan on the verge of his Trials of Knighthood sat at a comparatively isolated table in a restaurant called Yoma's on the southern edge of Calocour Heights. It was unusual for anyone from the elusive order of Force monks to come inside the little eatery owned by an Etti widow. It was also unusual for any member of the Jedi to order nerf tenderloin accompanied by grilled Ojomian onions drizzled with rualka sauce on a bed of pink lettuce. It was not a meal for a simple appetite, particularly at three o' clock in the morning. The padawan, Chevor Mikayzd, had received enough credits from his master to pay for the meal and perhaps a little dessert to round out his brief excursion into the daily world of Coruscant. 

Chevor hardly touched the steak, only focusing his distracted attention upon the vegetables and three deep cups of the darkest black caf (swallowed without cream or sweetener). It was a rare treat for any padawan to be allowed the opportunity to move alone outside the Jedi Temple, even for a being four days away from undergoing the necessary trials designed to promote him to the rank of Knight. But this certain apprentice needed to escape from the restrictive atmosphere of the only place he'd ever called home. Doubt had plagued Chevor for the last several weeks, clouding his judgment not only in lightsaber training sessions but also in his daily communion with the Force. Doubt quickly evolved into fear, which further made it impossible to focus upon the required mental preparation. 

“Is anything wrong with your meal, dear?”

Chevor looked up from his partially eaten late night culinary distraction into the patient dark eyes of the waitress who had been responsible for keeping watch over him the last two hours. It wasn’t unusual to see a flesh-and-blood restaurant worker on Coruscant, but it was rather peculiar to see one working so late in the evening. Most of the overnight work was left to droids, because they didn’t require stimulants to perform their duties. But here was an older human woman with dark brown hair and brown eyes smiling at him. It was odd for a stranger to call him “dear”. This kind of familiarity might have irritated anyone else in Yoma’s. But Chevor felt strangely comforted by her demeanor. Right in the middle of his crisis of everything, he couldn’t find any space to release those doubts. It was near difficult to confess anything to Master Nical, because he was currently on the hunt for another world that lay beyond life. Of course none of the other masters were available to address the dark worries that swirled in his consciousness and plagued his unconscious yet revealed themselves in his dreams. Visions of a black demon with a carved mask hiding its face and rivers flowing with fiery blood played out during those rare times when he could achieve sleep. Perhaps they were simple manifestations of the unspoken terrors that could befall any Force sensitive individual who strayed from the guidance of the Light. No matter the source of the dark visions, they were yet another concern that added to his lingering doubts.

The waitress frowned. “The food’s not so terrible around here.”

Chevor flashed a quick smile. “Everything is fine.”

Her eyes narrowed in obvious suspicion. “I can tell when someone’s lying.”

Chevor tried a quick manipulation of his interior emotions to mimic the face of someone untroubled by anything more than insomnia. “I’m all right.” Then he conjured up a fake-but-trying-to-be-real smile. The feeling wasn’t anywhere in his psyche, and he realized the waitress could never be fooled by this masquerade.

She wasn’t convinced. The waitress turned away from his table. “I’m going off duty for a little bit. Keep a watch on the front door in case anyone shows up.”

A cook droid opened up the plastic screen that separated the dining room from the kitchen. “Nobody ever shows up around here this time of night, Zia. Except for that kid.”

“Then he might be starting a trend,” Zia sat across from Chevor. “Don’t mind Zeebee. He’s been attached to the restaurant for the past sixty years. His circuits are probably getting rusty.”

Now Chevor felt inclined to laugh. “That’s bound to happen.”

“So you’ve got a lot of trouble bubbling there around your head.” She reached across and tapped his forehead. “Right in there you’ve got a lot of bad stuff keeping you awake.”

Chevor shrugged. “I guess that’s obvious since I’m here instead of where I should be.”

“You mean up there in the Temple District?”

His expression remained frozen in a half-smile. “Up somewhere around there.” The intrusion of a cursory Force inspection alerted Chevor this stranger wasn’t an ordinary waitress. He felt a sudden realignment of midichlorians as Zia made a clumsy attempt to scan his emotions. Either she was a Force sensitive undiscovered by the Jedi, or else…

“I used to live up there back when I was a lot younger.” Zia smiled. “Of course not everyone becomes a Knight. That was never my destiny.”

Chevor looked into the cold blackness of the remaining caf. There were padawans who never passed the Trials. For every ten initiates who passed the five levels of physical and mental endurance there were four who failed. Their choices were limited to undergoing the Trials until they passed, joining a lesser organization such as the Exploration Corps, or leaving the Jedi Order and falling into the struggles of daily life. Going out into the galaxy alone was more terrifying than any temptation from the Dark Side. Stories were passed around like a forbidden artifact among the older padawans about those unfortunate souls, dubbed “The Lost Souls”, included a bounty hunter employed by Azra the Hutt and a serial killer. Most of the stories were ridiculous, but they provided a cautionary lesson in the importance of passing the Trials sooner instead of later.

“If you don’t feel like talking then I’ll leave you alone.” Zia made no effort to rise up from her place in the booth.

“I’m just nervous—“

“You look about twenty. That means you’re just on the cusp of the most common age for undergoing the ordeals.”

“I know it’s meant to push your body and spirit, but I don’t really think the Trials are meant to be harmful.”

Zia leaned back against the padded black leather seat. “Sometimes I wondered if the masters were trying to cut the population of readily available knights to save money. I forced myself…” she choked on a laugh “…pun fully intended to go through each level and fail.”

“How many times do you did try?”

“Three times. That makes me sound desperate, but the pressure was so intense I felt it was necessary.”

Chevor frowned. “I’ve never felt any pressure from the masters, especially my own. Master Nical has been very accommodating. The only being who has pressured me…is me.”

“But there shouldn’t be any pressure. The Code emphasizes peace and harmony as part of the ideal state for any Jedi. How is that possible for a padawan who feels they must achieve their knighthood on the first attempt?”

“It does feel like I must accomplish this now or the rest of my life is doomed.”

“Or you’ll turn into me.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Zia shook her head. “It’s true. Once you’re gone from the only place you ever called home, there’s nowhere you can ever feel safe.”

“How many years has it been since you left?”

Her response was a sad half-smile. “Long enough that I had a child that would be about your age now.”

“How did you fail?”

“The first time it was the Trial of Spirit. Second time it was the Trial of Skill because I was so nervous about failing again. The last time I finally made it to the Trial of Insight. I almost believed it was going to work.”

“So what happened?”

“Master Okari decided my final test would be the most absurd one ever created. Have you heard of the ‘Sand and Stone’ test?”

“No.”

“The padawan is supposed to find a single grain of sand among a room filled with stones. It was some weird ritual used back during the Pius Dea Era. My dear old master decided to get rid of me by pulling out that ancient ordeal.”

“The Jedi seek victory in the Force’s name. They wouldn’t have sought your failure.”

Zia scowled. “Think about how stagnant matters in the galaxy have become since the Battle of Ruusan. There are skirmishes here and there but those don’t generally require the Jedi’s intervention. So that beloved order has become isolated from the real world. So they feel it’s necessary to come up with convoluted methods to challenge their students.”

“Even if that happens to be true, how does that affect my upcoming tests?”

“Think about who you might become if you do pass those ordeals.”

“I want to become whoever the Force wishes me to become.” Chevor pushed the remains of his partially consumed meal aside, then leaned his elbows on the table. “The learning process is not supposed to be easy. Each test will bring forth different aspects of my personality that should work together in harmony.”

“You swallowed their drivel so perfectly you’ll become a walking textbook.” 

Chevor frowned. “I understand your life has been difficult since you left the Temple, but—“

“Of course it’s been difficult. I’ve spent the past two decades finding odd jobs anywhere just to keep pulling together enough credits for survival.” Zia looked down at her hands. “Working on a liner, cleaning buildings, manual labor, and then I eventually discovered my true calling in the culinary industry.” 

“Maybe there’s something available within the Temple.”

“Like I’m going back there in search of charity.”

“It would be a steady income.”

“I lost my dignity back in that testing chamber. I never bothered to find that grain of sand among the stones.”

“You lost confidence in yourself—“

“And the Jedi, and the Force. I realized everything was pointless, and there was no reason for me to go down the path toward knighthood. It was never going to happen. So I gave up.”

“Nobody but yourself told you to quit.” 

“I’m not saying you should wind up like me. Despite my problems with the keepers of the midichlorians, I would never tell a padawan to abandon the Order.”

Chevor smiled. “You’re suggesting I stay and complete the ordeals?”

“You’re stronger than I ever was.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because it takes nerve to step outside without your master and come to a restaurant by yourself.”

“He wanted me to get out of the dormitories instead of staying inside and driving myself crazy.”

“But you came out in the middle of the night.”

“I’ve been out from the Temple more than once.” Besides the missions where he accompanied Master Nical, Chevor had wandered around the streets of Coruscant during the sunlit hours, mostly visiting the Retrolux holocinema and poking around various antique shops. He rarely ventured into the after hours world; he’d only been to one club down in Usucru shortly after his eighteenth birthday. But he was back in the dorms by curfew…now, two years later, was his first excursion into the heart of the shining ecumenopolis after midnight. It was another distinctive situation among many unique occurrences throughout his life. If his birth parents hadn’t given him to the Jedi…he couldn’t imagine the other paths that might have lain before him. 

“Does Yoda still teach that ‘do or do not’ crap?”

Chevor laughed. Only someone who had been trained under the old master would recognize that axiom. “Yes, he’s repeated that particular saying to me on many occasions.”

“Do you believe it?”

“That someone should go forth and undertake whatever is required of them instead of wondering if they should take action?” He realized the question was a direct challenge not only from Zia, but also an indirect confrontation with his inner self. He’d spent one year postponing his Trials of Knighthood. Within that year Chevor had undergone several experiences that could give him strength within each level. But his whole life had been preparation for those five examinations of soul, mind, and body. He could either face the challenge or turn his back and leave the familiar world he’d grown up in for an unfamiliar universe. Safety wasn’t guaranteed in either version of his future, but doubt would plague the second version if he slipped into the anonymous world. At least he would know the ultimate goal once he passed his “ordeals”. It was a long road from here until the end of his life, with many twists and turns, but somehow Chevor knew that was his true destination.

Zia nodded. “I thought so.” She reached across the table and patted his arm. “You’ll be a great Jedi one day.”

“Maybe I already am?”

Zia laughed. “Think it now, prove it later.” She pushed herself out from the booth. “I should clear that plate away for you and bring some dessert.”

Chevor shook his head. “That’s okay.”

“Well, maybe I need the dessert. This conversation isn’t over.”


	2. 500 BBY, Doun Yeepine

“Take your specs off, now,” Tortose told Pierrot, “take 'em off, if you want to look as though you work here.”

“But I won’t be able to see what I’m cookin’. How am I supposed to make dinner for five thousand idiots if I can’t see what’s goin’ in the pots?” Pierrot was a farsighted Snivvian and replacement for the latest missing galley attendant on the _Rose of Shara_. In the past month ten other kitchen lackeys had jumped ship because of Tortose’s lording over his underlings. Zia would have led the exodus away from the Shara’s head chef months ago, but the little creature tumbling in her stomach prevented that escape.

Zia leaned up against the metal counter near the dishwashers. Maybe after the kidlet was born and she dropped him off at the Jedi Temple she could find a job on some other ship. Of course there was nothing for her back on Coruscant…she left a decade ago at sixteen, in disgrace after failing her Trials of Knighthood.

Zia Amopharis gave away the only past she could remember in exchange for some unknown future that would never feel comfortable or familiar unlike those years spent in the Light Side’s embrace. But she couldn’t allow herself to be exiled into the lower ranks of the Jedi Order. It was easier to keep her eyes forward by walking away from the Temple.

A kick from the kidlet reminded Zia she was currently stuck on a fourth rate passenger liner docked on a middle-of-nowhere transit hub called Doun Yeepine. The intended ten-hour layover was the last delay before the vessel headed back to Coruscant. Once the ship docked, Zia was going to the budget delivery wing at Republic Central Medcenter to get this delivery over with. The kidlet seemed to realize he was getting closer to the intended destination because those kicks and twirls were coming along more often. If her current plan for him actually occurred, the little dancer/reincarnated _Teräs Käsi_ master would be able to put those nascent athletic skills to good use when he became a Jedi Knight.

“Hey, Amo, you wanna get over here and help us get ready for dinner?” Pierrot’s whiny voice interrupted Zia’s consideration of more important matters than feeding bored tourists supposedly-fresh-but-truly-frozen nerf cutlets and overcooked Naboo tubers.

She pushed herself away from the counter with a grunt. “Yeah, whatever. Don’t lose your fancy glasses in the soups.”

Pierrot snorted. “Least I can afford something fancy. You can’t even afford good shoes.”

“That's because our illustrious kitchen god doesn’t understand living beings need a living wage.”

“I can get a couple of droids if you don’t like working here. You are replaceable.” Tortose’s chronically red face nearly matched the color of the floor tiles. “I was doing you a favor. I could’ve tossed you out without any credits right after you showed up with that-” he pointed with one quarter of an index finger at her stomach and the obvious bump.

Anger descended from Zia’s brain and flooded her bloodstream. She didn’t need to be reminded about the inflated gratitude Tortose felt was owed to him by those unfortunate enough to be under his control. She was trapped in another horrible job because opportunities were few and far between for a pregnant woman who deliberately ended her relationship with the Force years ago. But that didn’t mean it was required for Zia to be treated like some perpetual midnight dweller from the underworld. Even a failed padawan should be allowed to have some hope for a better existence in the galaxy.

Zia took a deep breath. Walking away from her only home for the past year wasn’t the smartest idea under the stars. Being pregnant with a couple thousand credits saved made the idea only slightly less ludicrous. But there would never be another chance to escape before the kidlet made his debut.

“I’ll show myself out.”

Tortose laughed. “Where are the both of you gonna wander off?”

A twisting twirl from the kidlet gave Zia the extra boost of confidence she needed to walk away from the _Rose of Shara_ and its deceptive veneer of security. “You have no ability to comprehend how much I’ve survived, and how I’ll keep doing it.”


	3. 480.3 BBY, Coruscant

Chevor returned to Yoma’s a week after his initial encounter with Zia; rather than wandering into the restaurant in the long stretch of hours before dawn, he arrived at the reasonable hour of midnight. Their first conversation lasted for over two hours, and he realized there was far more to discuss with the former padawan-turned-waitress than his progress in the Trials of Knighthood. Something unspoken resonated between them in that first encounter, and left Chevor wondering about a matter he’d pushed deep into his unconscious long ago.

It was a series of disjointed images that used to keep him awake when the other younglings in the Bear Clan were asleep. While they dreamed of battling monsters and discovering secret tunnels underneath the Jedi Temple, Chevor was haunted by the image of a brunette wearing a small gold knotted rose charm around her neck. After meeting Zia in the restaurant, he felt the image of that knotted rose was somehow connected to her…but he couldn’t figure out the correlation. 

So he was back in the restaurant looking for answers, although he didn’t know the precise nature of the question. The restaurant was a little more populated at the wandering hour, filled with a group of young partygoers seated in a private room in the back and a handful of solitary beings hunched over their plates and cups in other booths scattered throughout the dining area. A robot waitress with claw feet wandered between the other booths while Zia sat in the same place where their first discussion had occurred. A large pot of freshly brewed kahve and a white mug sat in front of her, while a platter of cubed bantha flank surrounded by some green stalked vegetables plus the ubiquitous pink lettuce and a chilled blue smokeglass bottle sat on the other side near the empty side of the booth he slid into. 

There was a comfortable silence for about fifteen minutes, during which Chevor began eating while Zia sat across from him pouring sugar into her kahve then using a spoon to stir liquid and sweetener together. 

The quiet was broken when Zia picked up the mug of kahve and took a quick gulp. “You might not like finding out the history of your birth parents.” 

Chevor nearly swallowed a large piece of bantha flank. So that was what he wanted to ask. Somehow Zia could read his mind and find that question without any obvious effort. “How would I know the identities of the people who gave me to the Jedi?” He took a drink of water that didn’t come from the municipal system but a chilled bottle of R’alla imported from the Corporate Sector. It seemed like a kind gesture born from some overeager desire to please him with the hopes of receiving a large tip. But after Zia sat down with kahve and began her conversation with questions about his parentage, Chevor realized her kindly gesture emanated from something else…perhaps a repressed motherly instinct? 

Zia chewed her bottom lip. “There’s always something hidden while you’re alive.” 

Chevor picked up his napkin and wiped away some meat dripping from his chin. “That’s why I’m curious to know how any padawan could find out the names of their birth parents.” 

“You do know there are profiles on everyone who lives and works in the Temple?”

“But you don’t know anyone who could access those files.”

“Not anyone with the necessary clearance.”

“Didn’t your master used to work in the Archives?”

“Yes, for many years until he was finally pushed into getting me as his apprentice.”

“Do you think he could have found some method to access your data?”

“Aduman isn’t a slicer. Once he began teaching me his access codes would have been changed.”

Zia laughed. “It’s funny how little you both really know about each other.” She took another swallow of kahve then said, “That’s always been true ever since the first master and padawan were paired together.”

“What am I supposed to know about Master Nical? And what is he supposed to know about me?”

“Perhaps he does possesses knowledge of certain illegal activities which gives him random access to protected records. The names of your birth parents, where you were born, your blood type, midichlorian count¾”

“So he does know something about me.” Chevor bit his upper lip. “More than I know about myself.”

“You need answers, just like your master. Just like me twenty years ago on Doun Yeepine.” Zia finished the remainder of kahve in her mug. “I needed to stop listening to my own resentment, because that was the only true emotion pushing me from day to year.”

Chevor smiled. “You had to listen to the Force again.”

Zia nodded. “It was ten years since I last got in touch with the voice of the cosmos.”

“What does losing your connection feel like?” Chevor placed his knife and fork on the quarter slice of bantha flank and accompanying vegetables that remained on his plate. 

“How about I tell you what it feels like getting back in touch with the Force?” Zia leaned back into the leatherette upholstery of the booth seat. “It was like switching on a flood lamp in the middle of a cave.”

Chevor imagined a younger Zia standing in the midst of a dark cavern, then being surrounded by a sudden flowering of intense golden light. A Jedi’s existence was bound within their link to the Force. Every corpuscle and nerve vibrated with unspoken voices between the recipient and its source. Making the decision to cut oneself away from the guidance of the Light was drastic, yet it was Zia’s only salvation once she left the Jedi Order. “How did you get the connection back?”

“It literally came out from the shadows.”

“Something happened to you?”

Zia shrugged. “It was a random encounter that could’ve turned violent if the old tingles didn’t kick back in.” She looked over at Zeebee, who had watched them from his post behind the grill. “Cook me up some wheatcakes.” Then she looked at Chevor. “This is going to be another little story within a big story.”


	4. 500 BBY, Doun Yeepine

It was midnight local time when Zia found her way to the bridge. Zia had spent the better part of three hours wandering around the southern half of Sector Nine in search of accommodation and food. The need for a medical professional wasn't quite as important, although she realized that labor could occur anytime. Hunger from the kidlet and swollen lower extremities pushed her into the nearest greasy diner which not only provided her with some cheap sustenance but also led her to a cheap room at the Green Monk Inn. It was a two-story affair with chartreuse brickwork that stood out like the proverbial sore appendage in the midst of the dun colored buildings that surrounded it. This section was even drearier than all the gray plastene and darkened transparisteel that comprised the majority of the section's buildings. The interior of her temporary abode wasn’t much to describe in a holocard; somehow the place managed to avoid peeling paint in favor of fragmenting wallpaper. She had a twenty-minute nap then decided it was better to escape from the confines of the room and go back on the streets.

She needed to trade a few baubles picked up over her travels. Hopefully she could find a pawnshop to exchange for hard currency. Republic credits were accepted this far out near the Outer Rim, but it was easier to pick up necessities and make quick deals by having something universal like a precious metal or semiprecious gem.

A life-sized walking Galdian sculpture would have difficulty moving in a quiet fashion, but Zia possessed some experience measuring her steps. Long dormant sneaking skills came in handy walking along the metal overpass that connected the armpit residential district with Mercantile Avenue, which housed banks and pop-up food vendors. It was practical to keep those places organized, and it also cut down on her chance of getting robbed. But she wasn't going to rely on the theoretical safety of the avenue. Rarely utilized skills combined with practiced instincts were her best protection. Zia wouldn't be able to pull off any fancy physical moves. Maybe she might still remember how to pull off a couple mental tricks.

It never helped to disconnect oneself from the source that made it possible to manipulate the interior spaces of living beings. But that was a decision Zia made in the heart of a major emotional breakdown after failing her Trials. It wasn’t a sudden act of exile, but a gradual dissolution of the invisible cord that bound her with the Force. Every night she meditated during those hours when she could not sleep. She created a mental place where she could begin the spiritual divorce: a darkened room with an open golden door. Each night she pushed the door closed, until the final night when the portal was sealed.

Closing the door took months, but the emptiness came within a moment. She couldn’t feel the heartbeat of the universe or hear the voices of life anymore. Severing her connection to the Force was more traumatic than leaving the Jedi Temple. The only metaphor she could imagine within those first minutes was the ancient image of a ship adrift on the ocean in the midst of the darkest night without the aid of celestial light to guide her toward the unseen horizon. She cut herself away from the source of disappointment and pain in order to find another path within life.

Zia needed more than her physical senses to keep her and the kidlet safe. A concealed hold-out blaster underneath her black leather jacket was a basic level of defense, yet being able to sense hidden dangers within her surroundings would provide better protection. The valuables in her pawn stash wouldn’t amount to much once she traded them in, but the datachip holding ten thousand credits could easily fund a thief’s good time. But she needed that money to bring her kid into the universe.

She stepped down off the final step onto the dirt path that led up a small hill to Mercantile Avenue when she heard the footsteps.

The footsteps were light, yet detectable to Zia's highly attuned ears. A decade without her connection to the Force compelled her to intensify a concentrated focus upon birth-given senses. Her eyesight was not great, but her hearing was in optimal condition. The steps were familiar: the occasional limp followed a running shuffle from the right side. Her pursuer's right leg was shorter than its left side companion, so he wore lifts in his boots not only to make both legs equal but also to provide extra height.

The pursuer was about ten meters away, at the halfway point on the bridge. Zia could either stand there or keep walking.

A drag-scratch sound came from the shadows that surrounded the bridge.

A slight turn of her head showed a two-meter tall gold-skinned alien emerging from the shadows.

When Zia turned around she realized the source of the weird scratching sound was a curved broadsword held in the creature’s right hand; the polished durasteel blade dragged along the pavement.

For several eternal seconds the creature and woman did not move.

Zia realized…no, _felt_ …the rise of something familiar creep up her spine, then flood into her brain. She stepped forward with right hand outstretched. “You will leave me alone.”

The creature with the broadsword laughed, a strange hiss combined with a guttural choke. “Not likely.” He stepped closer. “You’ve got that little burden makin’ ye top heavy.” He tapped the sword against the pavement. “But ye can do yer best.” The creature grinned, showing four rows of heavily yellowed teeth.

Zia took four steps back, and the creature matched her retreat by coming forward into the half golden light provided by the floating security light. She needed more time to gather her strength and rediscover that connection to the mystical energy field once again. Closing herself from the influence of the Force took months…yet it somehow found some way to come back into her within seconds.

Zia hadn’t opened that metaphorical door which separated her from the Great Power. Yet maybe this door had a keyhole through which the Force managed to find its way into her. The sensation was small, not overwhelming like it used to feel, but it still vibrated with incandescent life.

What happened next occurred so fast Zia could only remember the incident in a series of images…

The creature lunged forward, sword raised upward with the curve turned in her direction.

The midichlorians in her blood sang when reunited with the source of all Light…then her energy was joined by another Force presence: small, yet strong, pure and burning with fiery Light which radiated upward from her womb.

Zia pushed the attacker into the lower durasteel pylon of the bridge with her right hand still outstretched.

The creature slumped to the pavement. His grip upon the sword loosened. Her attacker was temporarily unconscious, but would soon awake.

She needed to leave.

Zia turned away from the bridge. She looked up the hill that separated her from the avenue. It wasn’t a very large hill, just a rounded grassy hump with a gradual incline. But it was like a mountain to a woman that happened to be nine months pregnant and nearly out of breath after the sudden burst of energy. It was already wearing off, and there was a definite ache in her bones and joints. The kidlet would soon come off the Force high and would fuss without mercy.

She just couldn’t get up that hill, even if she could pull the flow of Light back into her. But the door was shut once again. She was not connected to the Force.

The original set of footsteps with the familiar half-step limp came down the steps behind her.

Zia sighed. This pursuer, unlike her second and still unconscious attacker, never took any sort of negative response as a final answer. She couldn’t imagine why he’d left the Rose of Shara and wandered around the city-spaceport looking for her.

She didn’t turn around to face him. Instead she called backward, “What do you want, Pierrot?”


	5. 480.3 BBY, Coruscant

Chevor’s third visit to Zia was delayed by two weeks. 

Aduman had been caught up within some dark grief since the assassination of his paramour, the Aeitheran senator Naima Kairos. It was seven months since her death at the hands of the White Lotus guerrillas on Knosce, and Aduman had become consumed with uncovering the truth about some form of existence beyond death. Chevor’s master began leaving the Temple after lights out three months ago. His destination remained unknown to significant parties in charge of matters around the Jedi Temple. So it was decided by Yoda that Chevor would become Aduman’s shadow. 

The young apprentice donned black clothing every night after the main gates were locked and slipped out the Deep Level exit to follow his master. He quickly discovered his master’s excursions took him away from respectable Coruscant to the Underworld, where merchants of ill repute sold exotic wares. Aduman headed to certain occult shops on Century Row and Midnight Street, searching for artifacts that might allow him to contact the dead. 

Aduman knew he was being followed. It was slightly awkward to be confronted by his master in the middle of a dead-end street, but Chevor was quickly included in the pursuit of afterlife ephemera. 

The Jedi Council had differing opinions on how to deal with Aduman and his obsession. Master Aldaris was the lone member who wanted him quickly dismissed from the Order, fearing that the Dark Side somehow influenced his pursuit of life after death. More rational members, including Master Livada (who was Aduman’s former teacher), instead recommended that Aduman's quest be allowed to continue. The final decision came from Master Yoda, who decreed all knowledge discovered by Master Nical would become part of the Jedi Archives to be kept under the strictest protection. Everything he found, whether it was some arcane written tome or holographic record, had to be surrendered into the custody of the Jedi Order.

Aduman protested against the interference of the Council into his "research". But it didn’t change the fact he was being watched, and that his padawan was supposed to make sure he didn’t go into dangerous territory. So Chevor was surprised when Aduman told him shortly before they left the Temple to go back to Yoma’s instead of coming along on yet another late night trek. The matter of disobedience worried Chevor, in particular the vexing matter of facing Master Yoda’s disappointed countenance. 

But he decided it was more important to remain loyal to Aduman. The older man disappeared down the back alley leading toward Melora Avenue. The younger man found his way back to the newfound familiarity of the establishment called Yoma’s.

Once inside the eatery Chevor was seated in a booth by Zia and quickly served an extra large mug of Esselian kahve with sugar and cream. Then she slid into the empty seat across the table from him so they could have another conversation. It soon took a strange turn when Zia pulled out a black velvet fringed bag from her waistband. “You might find this little object interesting.”

Chevor watched her pull out a gold necklace from the bag. “I’m not well versed in jewelry.”

“There’s a better purpose for this necklace than simple decoration.” She unfolded the long circular strand to reveal a golden rose attached to its center. “This little trinket is your key to comprehending the universe.”

He reached out and laced the rose between his right thumb and index finger. The charm was carved with five equal sized petals folding inward to a star in the middle. “Am I supposed to learn about the significance of roses?”

Zia pursed her lips, then pulled the rose from between his fingers. “This necklace is proof of something bigger than me.” She placed the necklace back into the bag. “It’s bigger than you. It’s even more exalted than the Jedi.” She folded the bag in half and tucked it into a hidden pocket under her belt. "Can you entertain the possibility you might be wrong about everything?" Zia shook her head. "You're getting caught up in the wrong stuff. Just like your master, although it’s not your fault. The Council simply cannot handle any signs of independent thought which challenges their dogma."

"You know I'm supposed to keep an eye on Aduman?"

"He understands you're being used to make sure he isn’t going crazy."

"So you're the reason he recommended I come here a few weeks ago." 

Zia shrugged. "The owner of Five Destinies Curiosities sent Aduman down here so I could put him in touch with a cultural anthropologist on Aeithera. We compared our respective explorations in matters of mortality—"

"Explorations about something after death."

Zia nodded. "Along with the ultimate truth about reality. Instead of believing that what's in front of my eyes is the only thing that exists, I decided to find out what else might be true."

“What truth have you discovered?”

“There’s more to us than the physical body. There’s an inner body.”

“You sound just like Aduman. He’s been talking about—“

“A soul.” Zia poked his arm with her right index finger. “We’re definitely more than flesh. The Whills call us ‘luminous beings’.” 

“What are the Whills?”

“A bunch of religious nomads who found the universe’s ultimate secret.”

“Which is--?”

“Something really does await us after death.”

“You and Aduman are going blind down the same road.”

Zia frowned. “We have parallel roads and we both have clear vision. But only I know the ultimate destination. Right now he’s got a big journey ahead of him that eventually leads to his own version of the ultimate destination. You will be joining him on that journey.”

“I have no reason to be concerned about what comes after death. I will join The Oneness after I’ve given up my flesh.”

She choked back a laugh. “You need to meet someone. She’ll be at the Retrolux in three days.”

Chveor pushed the cup of kahve over to the farthest corner of the table. “I’m supposed to meet someone at the holocinema?” 

“She’s very interesting and has a lot to tell you about life and death.” Zia patted his shoulder. “Plus your master could use her guidance.”

“But why am I supposed to meet this woman at the Retrolux?” 

“Nellith doesn’t get away from Vouroso that often and likes movies, so why not?”

Chevor stared at the immaculate tan sleeve of his tunic. “Should I bring Aduman with me?”

“Nellith only wants to speak with you.”

“Why?”

Zia shrugged. “That’s what she requested. I don’t know the reason.”

“But I’m not the one obsessed with spooky things.” Yet Chevor realized this declaration was not entirely true. Originally he started down the road toward immortality as the unwilling companion of Aduman. In the past month the padawan had become drawn to the esoterica that fascinated his master. It wasn’t morbid curiosity but a simple desire to comprehend the unknown. 

He sighed, then looked up at Zia.

Zia smiled. “I’ll tell her to expect you at the midnight showing.” She patted Chevor’s shoulder. “I’ll get us some food. You need to understand the importance of that gold necklace.”


End file.
